The Death of The Punisher?
by Judgement Mathew
Summary: In time all things will pass away. Even The Punisher, Frank Castle's body has become old and the demon's from his past have come to haunt him. Is this the end of the Punisher?
1. Default Chapter

_Ha been out of it a while but, as I promised here is my newest fanfic to be read._

_Disclaimer: The Punisher and all related characters are copyright of Marvel Comics. I have no rights to them._

_Thanks to Exiled-Knight for editing the chapter._

Frank Castle, a.k.a. The Punisher stuck the cold steel of the long barreled .45 in his mouth. The cold steel sliding through his parted lips. What was there left to do? He had been in the business too long. What no knife, gun, or club could do; time did:

DEFEAT THE PUNISHER

The End of The Punisher?

Frank's still muscular hand clutched the arm of his moth eaten, green easy chair; the tendons sticking out of his weathered skin on his forearm as he did so. Then the shit hit the fan, so to say, or maybe things just became normal for Frank Castle. In front of him stood his assistant in the "business" x amount of years ago.

Micro had supplied ammo, weapons, and battle plans for The Punisher; bringing up his effectiveness in killing off gang and mafia members. Unfortunately, Micro had a change of heart and left, joined the C.I.A, became a regular prick, got money from a heroine chain, wanted Frank to help him with his war on the bad guys with the government. Frank told him where to stick it all right; the only problem is twenty years dead—got his head blown off by the business end of Frank's shotgun some fifteen…twenty years ago.

Now in the run down apartment—where dust covered just about everything and holes had been torn into all the furniture—stood the ghostly image of Micro come to haunt Frank at his time of wearing down.

Frank pulled the gun out of his mouth raising a gray, bushy eyebrow as the ghostly visage of Micro stood in front of him.

"Fuck of," Frank said, hardly recognizing his underused low croak of a voice.

"You know I can't do that," the distant echo of Micro's voice rang in Frank's ears.

"Fuck you," Frank replied aiming the six shot .45 at the image and firing a shot, his arm shooting back with the recoil. The bullet passed through the image causing it to disappear about the same time the bullet hit a wall and lodged itself into it.

"You already killed me Frank," Micro's disembodied voice stated. "Don't you remember?"

"I never forget," Frank said in his gruff voice, coughing once as he said that. It felt as if someone had stuck glass in his lungs every time he coughed. Suddenly Frank became aware of someone standing behind him. He turned around to see Micro's headless corpse.

"So they say," his corpse said, its torn vocal chords vibrating with each meaty word. "But you try. Oh how you try."

_Author's notes:  
End of chapter one 1. Hope you all like it. I'll put up a new one when I get some more reviews. I'm sorry it was so short, but what can you do? Don't answer that._


	2. That was our picnic in the park

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. _

_- Nietzsche_

The heat from the sun beat down on Frank as he held his sons hand in his right hand his daughters in his left. His wife was walking beside him and everything was fine, not for long though.

Frank's reflexes must have been dulled from his time away from Nam because it was already to late when he saw the sun glint of the cold steel of the mobsters Thompson. A bullet smashed into his gut knocking him to the ground, then the old man's boys began firing back. His wife fell next her hands stuck between her breast trying to plug up the hole that had demolished part of her heart and was causing her to bleed out. His daughter hit the sidewalk to the left of him the expression on her face was clearly not that of a little girls when she saw what boiled and wriggled out of her stomach.

The last one to fall was his son no entry wound was visible as he crawled over to him and began to search frantically for it in hope that the boy was still alive, that hope was dashed when he pulled back his hand with his sons brain matter on it, the bullet had entered through the boys screaming mouth.

Franks eye's shot open he was back in his apartment Micro's headless corpse still stood in front of him patiently waiting for him to awake. Then it began to speak again.

"Are you guilty you turned their deaths into a reason for murder" it asked referring to Frank's family.

"Fuck you " Frank answered in his rasping voice, Micro ignored Franks hostility "of course you are insane" he said as if that was even on subject it's speaking paused then began again "Not that you always weren't, something happened to you on your second tour in Nam some sort of demon took over you, and now you have been feeding it with each life you take you have become a heartless thoughtless killer"" The 'wraith' of Micro leaned closer to Frank the stench of dirt and rot emitting from him. "This is the end of the Punisher, its time for you to bow out" As soon as the last words was spoken Franks body began to have violent muscle spasms a fit hitting him he fell out of the arm chair and began flopping around on the ground like a fish out of water a mix of spittle and blood flinging from his mouth things then went black.

Doctor. Hedson looked at the clipboard "what have we got here" he asked rubbing his chin. The nurse pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and smile "The old cook claims he's the Punisher"

"Is that so" Dr.Hedson replied not giving a damn if the bloke in the medical bed hooked to an i.v was the king of England. Dr.Hedson pulled on his rubber gloves and sighed, "Well lets have a looksy," he said walking into the room.

The massive man was lying still on the medical bed his eyes closed his gray hair sticking up in short random tuffs. Hedson walked up next to the bed and began pulling back the sheets so he could examine the man's stab wound when suddenly a strong hand grasped his wrist. The large man was now awake his eye's were steel blue orbs that held little to no emotions except for maybe a hint of insanity.

"Dear Jesus" The Nurse gasped hurrying over to yank Dr.Hedson from the large mans grip. The large man let go with little struggle and instantly fell back to sleep.

Frank awoke to a dark room he let his eyes adjust to the dimness. No wraith of Micro to taunt him good, that would make things all the easier. As soon as he had awoke he knew was in a hospital there were to dead give a way's to that fact, Number One the fact that his ass was hanging out of a hospital nighty, Number Two the general setting of the place. Frank tried getting out of bed but quickly fell down his legs unable to support him. "Very well" he muttered and began to army crawl across the cold tile floor to the door.

Frank pushed his way through the mainly empty hallways on a wheelchair he had found outside 'his' door. The emptiness of the halls insured his escape. He pushed his way out of the hospital door a feeling of satisfaction washed over him but he quickly pushed it away such feelings were dangerous.

He rolled his chair down the dirty New York side walk images of his chair tilting off the sidewalk and jarring his stitches loose and dropping his entrails into the street or even worse the gutter kept passing in and out of his mind along with the sound of his intestines splashing down into the dirty sewers.

"Careful Frank" His wife said from behind him pushing the wheel chair along, the large bullet hole visible between her breasts that Frank had once considered oh so lovely years ago.

"We wouldn't want you getting hurt now," she said smiling.

AUTHORS NOTES: well how did you like that chapter you primitives I enjoyed writing it myself drop me a review or an email tell me what you thought.


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